


To Soothe A Savage Beast

by GoldsJRZGirl



Series: Gold Standard [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark One Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldsJRZGirl/pseuds/GoldsJRZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold Standard prequel. Skin Deep AU. Rumplestiltskin is having a horrible day and takes his temper out on an unsuspecting Belle, his new maid servant. Can she learn to soothe the savage beast and discover the man beneath? Or is he truly the monster people believe? Takes place before A Heart Full of Love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Soothe A Savage Beast

The Dark One was having a monstrously bad day. It had started out on the wrong note, with his new serving maid making him breakfast . . . or trying to . . . but the toast had been burnt and the scrambled eggs runny and his coffee had grown cold while he chased a spider out of the kitchen, because Belle was terrified of spiders, and was screaming hysterically when the big black arachnid ran over her foot. Hence the reason his breakfast was . . . not up to par that morning.  
But he could have dealt with that. He left her scrubbing up the dishes and went down to his lab to make a potion that was supposed to locate his missing son. But he found he was out of several rare ingredients and needed to go to special apothecary in the village to buy more.  
And he disliked going into the village, for people stared and pointed and whispered unflattering things and made the evil eye when he went by. He knew he should be used to such things by now, after all he was the beast mommies frightened their children with when they misbehaved. But still the averted eyes and hand motions to ward off evil cut him to the quick.  
That morning, however, he got that and more, for the apothecary was out of the rare root and nightblooming flower he needed. Frustrated, he slammed out the door of the apothecary.  
And almost ran over a little boy toddling down the sidewalk.  
The child banged right into his knees and sat down hard on his bottom.  
The boy looked up at the Dark One, his little lips quivering, his eyes huge beneath his mop of curly dark hair.  
But before the crying could start, Rumple had picked him up, the way he’d done to his own son, and tossed him into the air. “Hey, little man! Don’t cry!” Then he giggled, a little giggle, and grinned at the baby.  
The child started to coo at him, and Rumple thought with a pang how much he reminded him of Bae . . . poor lost Bae . . . and he went to tickle the boy beneath the chin.  
“My baby!” screeched a woman’s voice. “Give me back my baby!”  
A young woman with long brown hair ran down the walk towards him, her eyes full of fear and desperation . . . which changed to something like ferocity when she reached Rumple, the same ferocity of a mother bear defending her cub.  
“Madam, I . . . I wouldn’t have hurt him . . .”  
“Give me my baby, you-you-beast!” she snarled, and grabbed the now crying child from his arms. She cuddled the boy to her and ran off, muttering, “It’s okay, sweetie, Mama’s got you. You don’t have to be afraid of the nasty wicked Dark One. I’ll protect you . . .”  
Rumple stared after them, rejection burning a hole like acid in his heart. Am I truly that wicked? Did she really think I was going to hurt a child? He stared at his hands, with their golden skin and black nails. He knew what they saw, what he looked like in the mirror each morning. A gold-skinned imp with reptilian eyes. A monster that mothers had to keep their precious children away from.  
He turned to go back up to the castle.  
As he did so, several villagers made the Evil Eye at his back and spat after he had passed.  
It was the final straw.  
You’re a monster, Rumplestiltkin. They all know it. Now why don’t you act like it?  
He stomped into the great room of the Dark Castle in a towering temper. He wanted to curse something, or smash something, anything to relieve the anger boiling within him, because being angry was better than being rejected. It hurt less. And he was tired of hurting. Now he wanted to hurt something or someone.  
His eyes alighted upon Belle, who was resting for a bit after cleaning the fireplace, sitting with her feet up on a recliner while she read from her favorite book Tales of A Clever Maid, about a clever girl who had adventures with her cat and fell in love with a cursed apothecary.  
That innocuous scene only served, for some unknown reason, to push him over the edge.  
He slammed the door so hard it shook, and Belle gasped and the book tumbled from her hands onto the floor at her feet.   
Before she could stammer out a reason for her idleness, Rumplestiltskin pounced like a cat, moving to stand before her, his yellow eyes glinting, as he snarled, “Now that’s a fine thing, dearie! I make a deal with you to clean my castle and I find you lollygagging about reading!”  
Belle squeaked in fright and shrank back on the recliner as he pointed a finger at her. Was he going to curse her? Turn her into a toad?  
Instead her book vanished in a cloud of purple smoke as Rumple bared his teeth at her and shouted, “I don’t think you should be reading while there’s work to be done! Too much reading plants poisonous thoughts in your head, dearie!”  
“I . . . I’m sorry . . . I was just . . .”  
“You were just resting your eyes, right?” he snapped. “When the cat’s way the mice will play, huh? Or maybe it should be—when the master’s away his servant will slack off! How about that?” He gestured and a portrait fell off the wall and thumped onto the carpet. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” he sneered.  
“Please . . . if you’ll let me explain . . . I was just going to—”  
“Not interested! I don’t want to hear it!”he made a sharp gesture with a hand and the drapes covering the windows blew back as if in a strong wind.   
The basket of straw flipped over, scattering hay all over the floor, and the fire cringed in the grate like a whipped puppy.  
Belle cringed too, sure he was going to blast her on the spot. He wasn’t called the Dark One for nothing. She didn’t know why he was in such a foul mood, but whatever the reason, she now reaped the whirlwind. She hadn’t thought he would mind her taking a break every now and again, she had been working since this morning, some of these rooms were filthy and required lots of effort to clean . . .  
Rumple reined in his wayward magic, but his temper still wasn’t appeased yet and he shouted, “Maybe I’ve been too lenient with you, Mistress Belle! Maybe you’d like to revisit the dungeon?”  
Belle shook her head. “N-No . . . why are you so angry, sir . . .?”  
“Why? She wants to know why I’m angry?” he growled to the fire, who was still cowering behind the grate. He gathered himself . . . then he spun back around to face her, bellowing, “Because I’m a monster! That’s why! A nasty cruel horrible Beast! Who rips the wings off butterflies and petrifies old people and eats . . . little . . . children!”  
He was so angry the veins stood out in sharp relief beneath his golden skin and his eyes were wild and spittle flew from his mouth to land on her skirt.   
Belle was sure she was going to be barbecued any moment now.  
He slammed a hand down on the arm of the recliner, breathing harshly as he growled, “Not to mention disobedient serving wenches!” Panting, he leaned over her and snarled, “I think it’s time for some new rules around here, dearie! First—you’ll scrub the floor in the foyer till I can see my face in it! Then you’ll clean and dust and sweep all the rooms on this floor—including the storeroom . . . and I don’t care if ten thousand spiders come out of the wall either! You’ll do the laundry and dust this entire room, I don’t want to see a speck of dust anywhere, on anything! And you’d better learn to cook something that’s edible before tonight . . . or else you can eat your supper in the dark in the dungeon! Because I don’t tolerate lazy, slipshod, clumsy, screaming serving maids around my castle! You’re not working for little old lady Perkins down the street . . . you’re working for me, the Dark One! So unless you want to be pickling rat spleens tomorrow, dearie, I’d better see some improvement around here. Am I clear?”   
He growled that last injunction so loudly the window panes trembled.  
Belle covered her ears, nodding frantically.  
Then he whirled about and stalked outside. He needed some air. He was still seething, his stomach was still churning, but he was satisfied that he had laid down the law to his maid. Now she knew, just like everyone else, that he really was a monster.  
Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Belle slowly uncurled from the recliner, breathing in slow shallow gasps as her heart quit racing and she stopped feeling like she was going to fly to pieces. Her first thought was to run as quickly as she could away from here . . . until she recalled that their deal had been forever . . . and she was not allowed to leave the castle unless Rumplestiltskin gave her permission.  
She buried her face in her hands. How do I live with such a beast? He was like-like a raging bull and I thought he was going to trample me!   
Miserable and afraid, she wept briefly into her cupped hands.  
She thought about defying him . . . but her courage failed her. He held the power of life and death over her . . . and if she pushed him, she could end up as a statue or a bug or a butterfly he pulled the wings off of, she thought shuddering.   
No, she would have to do as he wished. After all, that was the agreement he’d made with her to save her people. To come and be his servant. She had promised, on her honor, and a Beauchamp was nothing if not honorable.  
She stood up, straightened out her skirts, and looked around the room.  
It was a wreck.  
Rumplestiltskin had breezed in like a cyclone and left destruction in his wake.  
Then she moved over and picked up the portrait, and hung it back up on the wall. She went and got a broom, and began sweeping up the straw, thinking on his tirade and wondering if she had been mistaken about him.  
When he had let her out of the dungeon she had thought maybe, just maybe, there was something more to him than all the stories they whispered about the evil enchanter who drank blood at the dark of the moon. That maybe they had been . . .mistaken . . .  
But now?  
Now perhaps everyone was right . . . and he really was as dark as they said.  
She swept faster, the straw swirling in a golden blizzard about her.   
Page~*~*~*~*~Break

She had just straightened the front room, her hands reddened from picking up all the straw and arranging it just so in the basket next to the wheel when Rumple returned from his walk. He inspected the foyer floor, saying coldly, “Why isn’t the floor clean?”  
Belle froze with the broom in her hand, wondering if he was going to start bellowing again. “I . . . I’m getting to it, sir. That’s next on my list.”  
He snorted and stalked over to his chair, throwing himself down in it. He propped his boots up on the settle and stared moodily into the fire.  
Belle leaned the broom against the wall and hurried out to fetch water from the well to begin washing the floor.   
As she dipped her mop into the soapy water to begin scrubbing, her clever brain was thinking of ways to mollify her beastly master. She didn’t want to spend her days cowering in fear, or lurking in doorways, or hating every moment she spent within these walls.   
But how was she to soothe the savage beast?  
She swished the mop across the flagstones, thinking hard.  
Forty minutes later, she straightened, her back aching slightly, and saw that he had dozed off . . . and in sleep he did not remind her of a ravening beast . . . but rather of a grumpy cat. A cat who hissed and scratched but who could be soothed by stroking its fur just so . . . and by feeding it fresh fish.  
Belle’s mouth twitched. She had tamed a cat like that once as a child.   
Perhaps she could also tame a beast.  
Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Rumple woke to find a pillow beneath his head, placed just so, to support his neck and cradle it. He snuggled into it, his hands tangling in a soft blue afghan that had been tucked around him. It was so cozy that he wanted to fall back asleep again. He wriggled a toe experimentally and found his boots had been removed.   
Blinking, he opened his eyes and saw a tea cup resting beside his elbow, with his favorite winter spice tea in it.   
Huh? Now where did that come from? Belle. She must have put it there, he mused, still muzzy from sleep. He reached over and drank the tea, finding it just hot enough to sip slowly. He grunted as he swallowed, thinking that at least the girl knew how to make a decent cup of tea.  
Page~*~*~*~Break

Dinner that night consisted of creamy mashed potatoes, a meatloaf, gravy, and peas. It was simple yet satisfying. Belle ate sitting at the other end of the table, her heart in her mouth, waiting for him to pass judgment upon the meal and the rooms she had managed to clean that day.  
Rumple cut into the meatloaf and ate some. Then he ate some mashed potatoes and took a drink of spring water from his goblet.  
Belle waited with baited breath.  
“Not bad, dearie,” he said. “It’s better than this morning.”  
Belle breathed a sigh of relief and picked up her own fork.  
He said nothing more, but she noticed that at the end of the meal, his plate was empty.  
She made him coffee for dessert, and some chocolate pudding with cinnamon sprinkled over the top of it.   
She brought it to him while he was studying one of his texts on planar travel, and he grunted in annoyance because she blocked his light, but at least he didn’t throw the pudding at her, and when she returned an hour later for the bowl, found it and the spoon licked clean.  
Page~*~*~*~*~Break

He read late into the night, long after he had dismissed his maid to her own bed, searching desperately for a way to get to a land without magic. But all his efforts eluded him and he tossed the book down on the table and got up to pace the floor, encountering his slippers beside the chair.  
He shoved his feet into them, thinking idly how nice it was to have them right there, without needing to be summoned, so his feet didn’t freeze when he paced on the cold flagstones before the doors as was his wont.  
When he paced up and down, he noticed the flagstones glinting in the moonlight off the stained glass window on the door, and he thought that at least one good thing had come of his awful day.  
The clock struck two AM and he left off his pacing to go upstairs and sleep in his king sized bed, alone as usual.   
He drew back the thick quilt, which was one he had made soon after coming to live at the castle, because he was bored one day, and found a copper warming pan full of hot rocks inside.  
“What in hell’s this?” he muttered, and pulled it out of the bed. He was careful to send it down to rest upon the stove, so it didn’t catch something on fire, then he transformed his clothes into a nightshirt and crawled into bed, which was now toasty warm.  
As he snuggled into his pillow, he thought how odd it was that Belle had warmed his bed, and fetched his slippers, and placed a pillow beneath his head so he didn’t get a stiff neck. Why? Why would she care about that? About him? He was a monster. Couldn’t she see that? He knew she had been frightened of him today . . . like the mother who had snatched her boy from his arms. For who would not be frightened of a beast? And yet . . . she had taken his boots off and covered him with a blanket while he napped.  
It made him feel . . . guilty. Just a little.  
But before he could ponder more about the strange antics of his maid, sleep ambushed him and his head dropped to the pillow. In moments he was sound asleep, snug as a bug in a rug. Or a cat upon a pillow in front of a stove.  
Page~*~*~*~Break

The next morning Belle rose when the first birds broke the dawn’s silence with their twittering. She requested the pantry give her oats and cinnamon, brown sugar and dried cranberries. Then she started to make porridge, the way Alice, her best friend, had taught her. The two girls had formed an odd sort of friendship, and Alice had taught Belle to cook, and Belle taught Alice to read, and soon they were inseparable. Until the day Belle had made her deal with Rumple.   
Rumplestiltskin walked in just as she had placed the steaming hot bowl upon the table at his place, and followed it with a mug of coffee, black with three sugars, just the way he preferred his first cup.   
She waited nervously while he sat and ate the first bite.  
After three more spoonfuls he looked at her and said, “Sit down and quit staring at me, dearie. Have I grown an extra head?”  
Chastened, Belle took her own bowl and cup and sat down.  
Once he had finished, he looked at her and said, “I’ll be in my lab, working on a few experiments. Don’t disturb me unless the castle’s burning down.”  
Belle nodded, still eating.  
Rumple cocked an eyebrow at her and wondered slyly if she might wish the castle burned down . . . with him inside it.  
Then he went downstairs to his laboratory again.  
Page~*~*~*~*~Break

That morning Belle tackled the storeroom, and wore Rumple’s pair of sturdy boots, unbeknownst to him, and wielded a broom like a sword, poking it into all the nooks and crannies, and beating to death any creepy crawly things she found.  
Rumple wondered at the dust that sifted down through the ceiling, but was too busy stirring and mixing to go and see why he heard pounding coming from upstairs. Maybe Belle was beating rugs.  
Page~*~*~*~Break

Belle wipe sweat from her brow and looked with pride at the now freshly scrubbed storeroom, which was free from dust, mice droppings, and spider webs, as well as spiders. All the junk and clutter had been removed and everything was neatly in its place on the shelves and on the floor.  
And she was just in time to have a cup of tea before tackling the front room and dusting it.  
She put the kettle on and placed two cups with a premeasured amount of tea in them on the counter.   
When the tea was done, she fixed a cup and brought it downstairs to Rumple, who was busy stirring something in a cauldron.  
He had his back to her, and mindful of his injunction, she set the cup down on his work station, along with a scone, and tiptoed back upstairs.  
Page~*~*~*~*~Break

The potion was supposed to locate someone, but when he sprinkled it on Bae’s shawl, all it did was get the fabric soggy. He slammed his fist down on the table and swore in seven languages. Then he noticed the cup of tea and the scone.  
He found the tea soothed his prickly demeanor quite nicely and eating the cinnamon scone mellowed the depression he was feeling.  
Afterwards, he decided to take a break and went upstairs to return the cup, wondering how Belle was doing.  
He sent the cup into the kitchen, and paused, watching her in her shapely blue dress wielding the feather duster like an Amazon with a sword among the objects in his curio cabinet.  
For one moment he dared to allow himself to admire her.   
Then he recalled the woman’s shrill scream and look of terror.  
You’re a monster. Never forget that, he scolded, and then he went out the door for a walk, not bothering to say anything to Belle. She probably didn’t want to speak to him anyway.  
Page~*~*~*~*~Break

Belle dragged the ladder from the storeroom and set it against the windows, then stared up at the thick red drapes that guarded the windows like crimson sentries. They were thick with dust and probably hadn’t been taken down and washed in the last century, she thought in dismay.  
But she had to clean them. Rumple’s declaration had been clear in that regard. Besides, the dust was making her sneeze.   
So she resolutely climbed the ladder and started to unpin the drapes. But the pins were stubborn, and warped and rusted, and she couldn’t get them down. She tugged and tugged, hurting her hands and cursing. “Damn drapes! Damn stubborn things! Just . . . like . . . your . . . bloody . . . master!”  
She pulled harder. “What did he do, nail them down?”   
There came a ripping sound as she dragged them down.  
The release of tension caused her to lean backwards . . . and her foot slipped.  
The next thing she knew she was falling through the air.  
Gods. Oh, gods. I’m going to end up splattered all over the floor! Rumplestiltskin will be furious. Another fine mess to clean up!  
Until a pair of arms suddenly caught her.  
Shocked cerulean eyes met beastly yellow ones.  
And something passed between them.  
“Th-thank you,” Belle stammered. She glanced away, and saw the drapes torn and hanging like some shredded feast day banner from the window. She swallowed hard.   
“No matter,” he tried to sound nonchalant, while all the while his heart thrilled to the fact that she was in his arms . . . he was holding her . . . and she was not screaming at his touch.  
“The drapes . . . I’ve torn them . . .” she began, and waited for his bellow of outrage, for him to throw her back into the dungeon, or slap her for being a clumsy idiot. “I’ll put the curtains back up.”  
He shrugged. “It was too dim in here. I’ll get used to it.”  
“Are . . . you sure?”  
He nodded then abruptly walked over to the couch and set her down. But he didn’t just drop her like a sack of meal. He placed her there as if she were a precious object, a piece of delicate porcelain, like his china tea set.  
Surprised, she gazed up at him, and was startled to see, not anger upon his face, as she had expected, but regret and shame.  
He gave her a look reminiscent of a little boy caught playing with something he was told not to touch and it had broken and he had been caught trying to sweep the pieces under the rug.  
“I’m sorry, Belle. I . . . shouldn’t have lost my temper yesterday. I shouldn’t have bellowed at you . . or . . . or . . .asked you to dust those curtains . . .it’s a job for two people, not one small woman on a ladder. If I hadn’t come in when I did . . . you could have broken your back or your neck . . . and it would have been all my fault . . .”  
He hung his head.  
“Rumplestiltskin . . .”  
“I’ll understand if you . . . think I’m a monster . . . I certainly behaved like one . . .I’m surprised you didn’t run screaming from the castle . . .”  
“I couldn’t. Your enchantments . . .”  
He waved a hand. “Are gone. You’re free to leave.”  
He waited for her to jump off the couch.  
But she remained where she was. “That wasn’t in our deal.”  
“I don’t understand. I’m an imp with golden skin, cursed to be an evil sorcerer. I’m a beast. Why don’t you run? Why don’t you go away? Everyone else has.”  
The pain in his voice was palpable.   
She reached out . . . and took his hand in hers. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly why I have to stay.”  
He laughed softly. “To prove how brave you are?”  
“No. To prove that you’re not a monster.”  
“I am . . .”  
“No.” She put a finger to his lips. “You’re cursed. But you’re still a man beneath it.”  
“How do you know that? Do your books tell you?” he mocked.  
“No. I learned a long time ago . . . to look with my heart, and not with my eyes,” she countered spiritedly. “Would a beast catch me before I hit the ground?”  
“I didn’t want a mess all over my floor.”  
“Would a monster give me a pillow and a room upstairs?”  
“It was . . . to muffle the noise so I could get back to work. I do my best thinking when I spin at night, dearie.”  
“Would a beast care if I dressed in rags? You made me this,” she indicated her gown.  
“Your old one was unsuitable for cleaning.”  
“When you were so angry with me . . . why did you not strike me down with your magic? Beat me with sticks? Change me into wind or seven notes of music?” she challenged. “A true beast would have. Why didn’t you?”  
“Because . . . I don’t hurt women,” he blurted. “Not . . . not like that. Or children.”  
“Then you are less a beast, Rumplestiltskin, than some men I’ve known,” Belle stated, rising to her feet. “You were angry that day. Tell me why.”  
“It’s of no matter. It’s done.”  
“It does matter. Someone hurt you. Tell me.”  
“Why would you care?”  
“I just do! Or do I have to guess it?”  
“Very well. I went down to the village . . .” and the whole sorry story came tumbling out of him. “There! That’s why I was furious. Satisfied?”  
In answer she took his face between her hands, hands that were now callused from hard work, and kissed him.   
It was a first kiss, tentative, and gentle. It lasted no more than the drawing of three breaths.  
Then she pulled away and said, “Now I am. Feel better?”  
“I . . .” then he smiled, a true smile this time, not his usual sardonic smirk.  
Then he kissed her back.  
Even as she thrilled to his touch, so gentle, like the caress of butterfly wings, she was nearly swept away by the sudden passion he conjured with her. Without conscious thought she curled into his embrace.  
Astonished, he held her close.   
Even as he did so, the cynical part of him screamed, You’re a fool! She can never care for you! But the small hopeful corner of his heart whispered, But what if she could? He tucked her head beneath his chin and murmured, “Why were you so kind to me, after what I did?”  
“Because I learned a long time ago, Rumple, that’s how you soothe a savage beast,” she replied, and she laid her head against his chest, and listened to his heart.   
“You are . . . incredible,” he said, burying his face in her hair. “I don’t deserve you.”  
“Someday, Rumple . . . you will.”  
“That’s just a dream, Belle.”  
“And dreams do come true,” she murmured into his tunic. But for now, this was enough, she thought as she snuggled in his arms.  
He made a small contented noise almost like a cat purring, and Belle smiled.


End file.
